


AU Meme: Gytha Ogg

by thisbluespirit



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Humor, Innuendo, References to Shakespeare, The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings Fusion, but probably not as much as there ought to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: 10 AU scenarios for Nanny Ogg written for a Dreamwidth meme.
Relationships: Giamo Casanunda/Gytha "Nanny" Ogg, Gytha "Nanny" Ogg & Esmerelda "Granny" Weatherwax, implied Gytha "Nanny" Ogg/Owen Tudor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	AU Meme: Gytha Ogg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/gifts).



**Wild West**

Madam Ogg walked down Main Street of the next town, having been unaccountably driven out of the last (and the one before that), and gave a satisfied nod. Plenty of iron in this place; she could set up here without having to worry about any of _Them_.

**Coffee Shop**

Such a friendly soul, the regulars of the Bubbling Cauldron Café always said, watching Mrs Ogg chat to each of the customers in turn. She knew the names of everyone’s children and had advice ready for every occasion.

The only thing that made a person wonder was the way the waitresses worked so hard, kept the surfaces so shiny, and went so silent and trembled every time Mrs Ogg as much as looked at one of them…

**Shapeshifters**

“I’ve told you before, Gytha, it’s not proper witching. Too showy. It’s … _conspicuous_ , that’s what it is. Dangerous, if you ask me. Bound to lead to trouble. What you shapes yourself into shapes _you_ in the end.”

“Not more dangerous than being found by _Them_.” Nanny Ogg’s voice seemed out of place, coming from its current position. “And I thought about that, you can’t say I didn’t. That’s why I chose my book. You can’t get more me than that. You’ve said so yourself.”

Granny Weatherwax glared at the talking trifle. “Well, yes, you’ve certainly shaped yourself into something all right, Gytha. S’pose I’d better be thankful I’m not having to talk to one of them Strawberry Wobblers.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll switch back any moment now – can feel it deep in my custard and lady fingers …”

**Magic/Fairy Tale**

“Ooh, dearie me, pardon a simple old countrywoman wandering by this Ominous Mountain or whatever you call it, but you two young lads look parched. Would you like one of these apples or oranges I happened to have about me in case I came across hungry looking folk in the wilderness?”

Frodo blinked. “Sam. I’m hallucinating.”

“I don’t think you are, Master Frodo. Or leastways, if you are, we’re both having the same hallucination which ain’t a thing I ever heard of before.”

Frodo squinted at the unlikely apparition of a jolly old lady carrying a basket full of fruit. “Um, how did you get here? You don’t simply walk into Mordor.”

“Of course not,” said Nanny Ogg. “Why’d I do a silly thing like that when I’ve got a perfectly good broom? Would you two like a lift? Seems I’m going your way. Just by chance, you understand. Not because I’m interfering or anything, no matter what other people on grand councils might say. Or Esme, for that matter.”

**. . . In SPACE!!**

Beings from other planets were a funny lot, Gytha had decided. Seemed to have a bit of a fixation, but that was fine by her. If the poor things wanted to know about This Human Thing Called Sex, she was happy to provide as many demonstrations as required, with bonus explanatory commentary if they weren’t too quick on the uptake. And some of her favourite songs. It seemed that outer space had been crying out for someone like her. 

Meanwhile, in the wake of her ship’s stardust trail, aliens across various worlds suddenly put up signs asking humans Not To Do It Again, Not Under Any Circumstances, Ever, Thank You, and frequently proved to be unaccountably terrified of hedgehogs. 

**Historical**  
[Less historical than me inevitably thinking of how it might have gone if they’d wound up in one of Shakespeare’s History plays, what with their king-making habits. I’m so sorry. It just had to be done.]

“Think this one’ll be all right?” asked Gytha Ogg, watching the coronation from the gallery with Esme. It was a done deal now, and it ought to end all that fighting, which was the important thing, but it’d be nice to think this one would turn out fairly decent as kings went. Not that that was saying much.

Esme stared ahead. “He’ll do. He’s an only child, that’s the thing. No brothers. And definitely no nephews and nieces. We can’t be havin’ with any more of that sort of behaviour.”

“True,” said Gytha. Her eye alighted on the Princess Elizabeth below and a stray thought cheered her. “And if he’s anything like his granddad, _she_ won’t have anything to complain about on the wedding night. I must say I’ve never seen such a big –”

Esme turned her head to glare her friend into silence. Gytha winked back. True story, that Owen Tudor had been a bit of all right. She hadn’t blamed the ex-queen one bit for losing her head over him, poor girl. Such a nice pair of legs he had on him, too. She might have accidentally tripped the lad up herself that one time when she was hanging around as a maid in the castle. Funny how things turned out, really.

**Canon Divergence**

Nanny Ogg put the third invitation in the pile of paper for the privy and shook her head. What would that Magrat think of next? Who needed covens and suchlike? If she needed to talk to any of her fellow witches from time to time she’d send a note by grandchild, like any sensible soul.

Strange, though. Things never seemed to go quite right after that.

**Crime/Detectives**

“I’ve been told,” said Mrs Ogg, taking her baccy pipe out of her mouth, “that you haven’t got any witches in the Watch yet. Shameful, I call it, when you’re trying to be all in clues and sieves. Besides, I don’t know how you get anything done without one of us around. Probably go around arresting innocent people all the time.”

Vimes swore.

Mrs Ogg beamed back and swore harder.

**Supernatural**

“Go back, I beg you,” said the slim young man, who’d come tearing down the hill, looking white as a sheet. “The manor house is haunted! They say it was cursed by a witch – a foul fiend from hell.”

Gytha shook her head at him. She liked the looks of him – tight breeches were such a helpful fashion, she felt – but that was just blatant prejudice, that was. “Watch your language, young man. That foul fiend’s a good friend of mine. Thought I’d miss her after she passed on a few years back, but she pops back for a chat every now and then. You can come with me if you calm down a bit. I’ve got a bottle of scrumpy we can share.”

“Return to that dread place?” said the young man, shuddering and turning even paler at the suggestion. “Not for a thousand guineas!”

Gytha watched him race away along the path and sighed. “Ah, well. All the more for me and Old Magda, then.”

**Romance Novel**

“So,” said Nanny Ogg to Casanunda, “we’re supposed to get into the castle by saying we’re this Lord High Whatsit and his rich wife Lady Thingumy, but there won’t be any jiggery pokery, because of it all being just pretend?”

Casanunda nodded. “You’ve grasped it. Finally.”

“Well, what’s the point of being any kind of married if we ain’t going to have any of the fun parts? Might as well while we’re at it. I mean, ‘s’not going to be very convincing if we don’t, is it?”

“Mistress Ogg,” said Casanunda, overwhelmed yet again. He kissed her hand and thanked all the gods he had remembered to bring his ladder.


End file.
